Maybe Not Forever
by nolotica
Summary: [collab with scarylolita] After years of being the only boy in South Park openly interested in other guys, Token makes a surprising discovery about two of his closest friends. Amidst his final year of high school, juggling college applications and a new boyfriend with a severe mental illness becomes overwhelming. Warnings within.
1. Chapter 1

**South Park** **Matt & Trey.**

 **TW: Mental illness, self-harm, eating disorder, drug and alcohol abuse, child abuse, suicide mention.**

I'm honestly a fucking idiot. I should have been more careful about who I invited to my house this weekend. My parents don't care as long as I keep my grades up and the house is clean when they come home, but that's the hard part. Whenever I extend invitation past my immediate group of friends, I end up staying sober all night and picking up peoples' shit as soon as they walk in the door.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't bitter. I don't even know half these people. I know that Clyde and Nichole will help me clean up tomorrow morning, but a house full of random, drunk teenagers is still too stressful for me to be able to enjoy myself.

"Hey, man," Jason approaches me with a beer in his hand, "How's it going?"

"Shitty," I reply, brushing ashes off my counter where somebody obviously put their cigarette out.

"Dude, Token, worry about that later. I'll help you tomorrow." He sets the unopened beer down and slides it over.

"Ugh, I know."

This is so frustrating. Half the school must be here and not just the kids from South Park. When we started high school, they combined all the kids in the region. It's been a clusterfuck to say the least. I'm honestly just glad that I have a car. I can't imagine having to take the bus to that hellhole every day.

I grab the beer can, opening it and taking a swig.

"Better?" Jason jokes.

I force a smile. "Sure."

Beer in hand, I move throughout my house, keeping a wary eye out for any troublemakers… and speaking of – I haven't seen Craig since the night began.

In the kitchen, there are people mixing drinks – though many of them look like they've already had one too many. Still, it's not my job to play the carer. In the living room, there are people dancing closely together, moving to techno music. I wonder if half of them even know who it is they're pressed against. In the game room, there are people watching some sports game on the flat screen. They're all shouting, getting rowdy at the scores.

This is life in South Park. This is what kids around here do pretty much every damn weekend.

What does that say about this place? It says we don't have much to do and it seems like everyone just wants to be numbed out of that realization.

I still can't wrap my head around why my parents stayed here when they could have gone anywhere. All I know is that as soon as I can I'm getting the hell out.

I make my rounds back through the house, heading through the living room. Part of me wonders if I should just cut the music, or maybe I could call the cops on myself and then everyone would take off.

As I walk past the couch, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

Ugh. Gross. Of course people would be smashing their faces together on my parents' antique couch.

I try to take a closer look without being intrusive, and realize that it's Craig and Lola. Fucking fantastic.

"Craig!" I shout, trying to get his attention, but he doesn't hear me.

He's probably too tangled up in his catch of the week's face.

You'd think that someone who spends almost all of his free time at my house would be more respectful of my things, but that's not even the issue with this situation. Here's the real kicker: Craig is fucking gay. I know it—we all know it. I don't know who he's trying to fool.

Sometimes I think Craig is trying to fool himself as much as he's trying to fool everyone else.

I want to grimace at the sight of them and look away, but it's like watching a car crash. It's tragic and you can't stop staring.

They're all hands. Lola has her tongue so far down his throat I'm surprised either of them is even conscious at this point. Her hands start wandering down south, grabbing at his crotch.

For fuck's sake…

I don't get how they can do this kind of shit in front of everyone.

I wonder how much he had to drink tonight. He always overdoes it. He always ends up getting mind-numbingly drunk, throwing himself at the first cute girl to show interest, then blacking out at some point in the night only to wake up with the worst hangover you can imagine.

You can imagine who has to be the one to take care of him.

I look around but everyone seems to be too busy their own thing to notice the fucking fiasco happening right next to them, so I roll my eyes and stomp over.

"Lola," I say sternly, putting my hand on her shoulder, "Get up."

She glances over her shoulder, looking surprised, but stands up without much hesitation. She must be pretty far gone, too.

"Craig, dude, what the fuck." I scoff, offering my hand for him to pull himself up.

"Why'd you interrupt? We were having a good time," he mumbles insistently.

"Uh-huh," I drone. "Thought you could use a break."

Craig looks confused but doesn't argue. His eyes are dull. I wonder how much he's had to drink.

He has that glazed look, like he's literally not seeing or registering a damn thing that's going on or being said. It's a typical weekend look for Craig.

By the shoulders, I steer him out of the living room and into the kitchen, sitting him at the table and pouring him a glass of water.

"Drink," I instruct, setting the cup down in front of him. "Sip it slowly, don't rush it. You need to hydrate yourself, man. You can't just drink alcohol alone."

He grabs the cup, begrudgingly doing as I say.

"What's wrong with you lately?" I ask him. "You're so out of it."

"Nothing," he slurs. "I'm fine. Just leave it."

I let out a sigh, deciding to relent… for now. Instead, I pry with, "Did you eat today?"

"Had a sandwich before coming over," he says.

"That was hours ago," I point out. "Eat something now, even if it's just a few chips. It'll help."

He gives me a look of mild annoyance.

"Seriously, you have to take better care of yourself." I grab some hummus and carrots out of the refrigerator.

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, but when I put the food down next to him, he takes it. I knew he would be hungry. I don't know why he never eats unless someone bothers him to.

"Okay, I need to go back and check on the party," I say, filling up his water glass a second time and handing it to him before turning to head for the doorway.

"Really?" Craig scoffs, "You're going to pull me out of the party to come sit me in the kitchen and then ditch me?"

"I'm not ditching you," I respond, irritated.

"No? Because that's what it feels like to me."

"Craig, I just need to make sure that nobody is fucking anything up—including you."

"Well, how can you be sure I'm not 'fucking anything up' if you're not even watching me?" he asks.

I honestly don't even know what the fuck to say to that. I never know what to say to him when he gets like this, but it's a recurring thing.

"Craig," I say sternly, "Chill. Seriously. I'll be back in five minutes. You can sit alone for five minutes."

He grinds his teeth, looking beyond upset.

"So, can I leave?" I ask, wanting him to just calm down.

"No!" he snaps.

"Why the hell are you like this?" I growl, unable to keep my temper under control.

Honestly, I'm not even mad at him. I'm just mad in general because this party is too huge and I can't control it anymore.

"Like what?" he seethes.

I raise my palms and start rubbing my temples. I really don't want him to get pissy with me. "Craig, please," I say as patiently as I can, "I'll be right back. I promise I'm coming right back. I'm not going to ditch you I just want to make sure things don't get out of control. This is my parent's house and if anything gets fucked up I'm going to be the one responsible."

Craig looks absolutely livid, but finally spits out a sharp, "Fine."

Jesus fucking Christ.

I turn around and exit the kitchen. I wish I could say that Craig is only like this when he's drunk, but that'd be a fat lie.

He's so damn clingy and constantly competing for my attention—I can't figure out what his deal is. If I didn't know any better I would say that he finds girls to hook up with just so I'll come and stop him. Honestly, that might not be so off base.

I do another scan of the house, taking a look in the basement. In the game room, things seem to be relatively peaceful – especially compared to the rest of the house. Namely, the main floor. The living room is still a hot mess of bodies. I think the living room has taken the most damage tonight.

I decide to head upstairs and lock the bedrooms before anyone gets any ideas. I'm just glad Craig didn't make it that far with Lola. Then again, judging by what I've seen from them so far… they probably would've flung off their clothes and done it right then and there.

Speaking of Lola, I have no fucking idea where she is now. She's probably got her mouth glued to someone new by now.

After surveying each room, I decide to head back downstairs and check back on Craig. Hopefully he won't be mad anymore and hopefully I wasn't gone too long.

When I get back to the kitchen he's still there, thank god, but he's moved to the dining table.

As I get closer to him, I hear a quiet thunking noise, and at first I think he's tapping his foot, but when I pull up a chair and sit down next to him I realize that he's banging his wrists on the wooden framing underneath the table.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, but he doesn't respond.

He's staring down and he looks rigid. His shoulders are visibly tense. "CRAIG!" I yell his name.

He jumps, pausing and glancing up at me. "What?"

I let out a breath, moving towards him. "What the fuck were you doing?" I demand to know, grabbing his hands and giving them a once-over until I see some red marks on his left wrist that I don't quite understand. "What the fuck is this?" I ask him.

He tears himself from my grip and then pushes me away, standing up. "Why are you so mad at me?"

"I'm not," I say, forcing a calm voice. "I just want to know what that was just now… What were you doing?"

"Nothing," he insists. "I was doing absolutely nothing."

He's still slurring, but it's not as bad as it was. I think the water and food helped.

"Okay, whatever man." I roll my eyes.

"Are you mad?" he repeats.

"No," I tell him for a second time, "I just can't be babysitting you all night, okay? I think you should go to bed."

"I feel like you're mad." He sounds panicked.

I swear I'll never fucking understand how he can go from so snappy to so submissive in a matter of seconds.

"I promise I'm not mad," I choose my words delicately, "I just want you to be safe and make good choices, alright? And I think the good choice right now would be for you to head up to my room and go to sleep."

Craig looks frustrated, but nods his head slowly and stands up from the table.

His wrists are starting to bruise now. Ugh. What the fuck.

I fill him up another glass of water and walk him up the stairs to my room.

"You can just sleep in my bed, okay?" I offer, unlocking the door.

"Thanks," he says sheepishly.

"It'll probably die down in a bit, but you're so damn drunk you'll probably have no problem sleeping even with all the noise," I tell him, noting the still-present sound of dance music coming from downstairs.

He just shrugs, not bothering to deny it. "When are you going to go to sleep?"

"When everyone else is gone," I say. "I'll grab the guest room for tonight, though, so don't worry about me waking you up."

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed…" he starts.

I wave a dismissive hand. "It's fine, Craig. You're not kicking me out. I'm offering." I unlock my bedroom door and then put a hand on his back. "In you go."

He steps inside and then turns around to stare at me. There's an unreadable look on his face, one I want to question, but I don't. Not yet. There's really no use in talking to him like this. There's too much going on and I think it's getting to him. Hell knows it's getting to me.

He turns around to head towards the bed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Finally. Now I just need to focus on getting everyone else out.

I head down to the game room where Clyde and the rest of our school's football team are squished into the couch watching the last quarter of the Colorado Buffaloes game.

"Hey, man," I give Clyde's shoulder a squeeze to check in.

"Oh, hey!" he says, looking over his shoulder. "How's it going?"

"It's going." I shrug. "How much time left in the game?"

"Like five minutes, then we'll be out of your hair." He smiles. Clyde always knows when I'm getting worn down. I wonder if he'll be around to help me clean up tomorrow.

I go and check out the living room, where most of the dancers seem to have filtered out save a few stragglers.

Good. The damage doesn't seem too bad. I'll need to fluff some pillows and mop the floors. Not to mention toss away all the empty beer cans.

It's nearing 3AM. It's about damn time everyone fucks off. Half these people weren't even invited. I don't know why most of my parties turn into open-house. They never start that way, that's for damn sure.

I turn off the music and force a smile on my face as I wave everyone else out.

Good riddance, whoever the hell you all are.

I return to the game room and catch a few final minutes of the game.

"We'll let ourselves out after this, Token," Clyde says. "Don't worry about it."

"Craig is upstairs," I tell him.

"Enough said," Clyde laughs.

I smile wearily. "All right, I'll see you guys around, then."

With that, I head back upstairs. I grab my robe from the bathroom and throw it on over my t-shirt, stripping out of my jeans down to my boxers. I fold them neatly on the counter and then carry them with me to the guest room.

I close the door behind me and throw back the sheets. It's nights like these I'm so glad my parents keep things set up all the time.

I hit the lights and crawl into bed, but as I'm pulling up the sheets I hear the door creak open.

"Token?" comes Craig's voice from the hallway.

"Craig? Are you okay?" I ask. "Are you getting sick?"

"No," he says quietly, before stepping the rest of the way into the room, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," I say, sitting up in bed, "About what?"

"Are you mad?" he questions for what feels like the hundreds time tonight.

Dim light from the hallway filters into the room and I squint at Craig as I respond. "No," I tell him. "I'm sorry I seemed all over the place earlier. I was pretty frantic. I just wanted everyone to leave because the house was getting messed up and my parents will get pissed if things aren't in order when they get back."

"I get it," he says.

"Do you?" I wonder.

"Yeah," he insists. "I get it…"

"Then what's on your mind? Why were you so upset tonight?"

He pauses before taking further steps into the room. He sits on the bottom of the guest bed and stares at me in the dim room.

"I was jealous," he confesses. "I felt jealous you were paying attention to everyone but me… I get jealous when you're not paying attention to me."

For a moment, I'm quiet. I don't quite know what to do with that confession.

"What does that mean, Craig?" I ask him.

He lets out a sigh. "It's just how I feel, Token… You asked me, so I told you."

I give him a piteous look, though he probably can't make out the expression. "All right…" is all I muster up at first. "But I'm paying attention to you now," I add with finality.

"Yeah," he sighs, leaning over and laying his head on the mattress, "Thanks."

I want to help, but I don't know how. I don't understand what's wrong.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again.

"No," he says dryly.

I have no fucking clue what to do here. We've come to a standstill. He's not okay but he won't tell me how to help, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that.

"Can I sleep in here?" he asks suddenly.

"Um, yeah," I nod, scooting over to the left side of the bed, "Or we could both go to my room."

"No, I'm already in here," he says solemnly, inching up next to me and rolling under the covers.

We lie side by side and it's quiet again. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe for a few minutes. It doesn't take long for his breaths to even out. That's when I know he's asleep. Finally.

It's like he just expects me to know what's on his mind at all times and then he expects me to cater to his emotions and wants and needs… and I can't. But, honestly, I don't think Craig even knows what's going on in his own head. So, it's virtually impossible for anyone else to know. It's like he's always all over the place. Sometimes he's totally normal and fine, but other times… he's something else completely – something I don't quite recognize as the kid I grew up with. Then again, maybe it was always there lurking beneath the surface, but it was only recently that it all erupted.

There's a question on my mind and I feel vain for even contemplating it, but…

Is Craig into me?


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake up the next morning, Craig is nowhere to be found.

I head to my room and grab a pair of sweatpants from the top drawer, pulling them on over my boxers before heading downstairs.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs I see Craig sitting on the couch watching TV and eating a bowl of cereal. He's fixed the pillows and picked up a few beer cans, but it looks as though he gave up halfway through.

"Hey man, good morning," I say, plopping down next to him.

"Morning," he replies dryly, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Um, okay." I shift awkwardly on the couch. "Do you want like an ibuprofen or something?"

"No, I'm good," he says, gesturing to his cereal.

I don't know how he isn't throwing up. It's kind of miraculous. He was so out of it last night. It was the worst he's been in a while, but he has been in much worse shape than that in the past. I don't know why he continues to do that to himself. He's going to give himself alcohol poisoning one of these days.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask him.

"Yes, Token!" he insists impatiently.

"No headache?"

"Nope."

"Impressive," I murmur.

"I'm an impressive guy," he says with blatant sarcasm and cynicism.

"So, what was up with you last night?" I pry. "Why did you get so damn drunk?"

"It's not anything new," he reminds me.

"I know…" I admit, "but why do you do it? It can't feel too good – especially in the morning."

"I'm fine," he reiterates. "I'm totally fine."

"Okay," I say, irritated.

We're quiet for a minute, and I swear I can feel Craig tensing up next to me.

"Okay," he repeats.

I don't want to let him act this way. I'm frustrated to say the least.

We watch the screen in silence, neither of us wanting to be the one to give in. I swear all he does is try to draw attention to himself—acting so blatantly upset and then insisting that he's fine. It's painfully obvious, but at the same time is fucking impossible to read or maneuver around. I can't tell if by giving him the silent treatment I'm teaching him a lesson, or if I'm playing right into his game.

"Craig," I say finally. I can't act like this. I'm almost an adult. "Can we talk about last night?"

"What about last night?" he scoffs.

"Let's make a list," I say. "First thing you did when you came over was head for the liquor. You got disgustingly drunk and threw yourself at Lola on my parents' sofa. Then you gave me attitude for separating you two. Like, what the fuck, man?"

He shrugs. "Sounds like a typical weekend to me. I don't know why you're so mad."

"I'm mad BECAUSE this is typical!" I exclaim. "It's not healthy, Craig. You need to give yourself a fucking break. You just turned, for fuck's sake."

Craig's birthday party was yet another mess. Clyde and Bebe threw him a surprise party that was held at the Donovan residence. I kind of knew that would be a bad idea and I voiced my opinion on the matter, but they insisted it would be fun. So, it was me and Jason's responsibility to bring Craig to the party without spoiling anything.

As it unsurprisingly turns out, Craig doesn't like surprises. He spent most of the night locked in Clyde's bedroom, refusing to come out. When we finally managed to coax him out, the first thing he did was pour himself a stiff drink. He got so damn drunk that night, we found him passed out in the bath tub the following morning with puke all over his clothes.

Yours truly had to clean him up.

"Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to not smack him across the face.

I don't know what he's going to do once he gets to college—if he gets to college. People like Craig go off the deep end. Either way, he's screwed.

He drinks too much. He smokes too much. Hell, I don't even know what else he would do if he could get his hands on it. Everyone keeps acting like this is just a phase because we're 17 or whatever, but I'm not convinced.

I don't know, maybe it's our fault for pressuring him to go out. I know Craig hates crowds and gets anxious, but he can't just hide away in his room for his whole life. I know he would if we let him.

Maybe if he had some constructive hobbies that would help. He does sometimes. When it's nice out he likes to work on his bike, but when is it ever nice in South Park?

We have two months of summer and ten months of winter here.

When I can, I'm going to move far away from all this shit. Maybe I'll go to California. Maybe I'll go to Florida. I don't know. I just want to be somewhere warm.

It stresses me out to think about where Craig will be this time next year.

"Craig?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want to do after high school?"

"Nothing," he says. "I'm staying here."

"Why?" I pry.

He shrugs. "Don't wanna go to college. I'll just get a job or something."

"Dude, you can't even keep a job," I comment.

He's had jobs in the past, but he always ends up getting fired. He arrives late, he skips days, he calls in sick too much, he fights with his managers. I don't know why.

"Token, stop riding my ass."

"I'm just _worried_ about you," I say, exasperated, and I swear I fucking see him smile when I say it.

"Why don't you just take care of yourself?" he snaps. "Everything's perfect in your little world isn't it? Do you really have so little to concern yourself with in your own life that you have to busy yourself with mine?"

That's enough. Fuck it. I don't have time for this and he can take care of himself—obviously.

I stand up from the couch and head to the kitchen, grabbing a paper bag from underneath the sink.

I stomp back into the living room and start grabbing beer cans off the floor, the bookshelf, fucking everywhere honestly. I didn't even buy beer. I have no idea where everyone got their hands on it.

Walking over to where Craig is sitting, I haphazardly scoop the cans he's lazily stacked on the coffee table next to him into my bag, looking him dead in the eyes.

He breaks away almost instantly. Good. I hope he feels guilty.

I don't have time for his bullshit – especially since my parents are going to be home tonight. If they come home to a mess, I'm screwed. I need the house to look as good as it did when they left…

It's times like this when I wish our house wasn't so damn big. It's murder to clean, especially when no one wants to help.

I take the cans out and put them in the recycling bin before sweeping up the kitchen, the hallway, the living room, the game room. I wipe the counters and tables and try to be as fast yet thorough.

I ignore Craig the entire time, not even bothering to make eye contact with him. He needs a few minutes to reflect and think about how he's been acting and treating me.

When I'm finished, I do another scan, making sure everything is clean and tidied up. It all looks up to snuff. Hopefully it'll pass my parents' inspection.

I honestly don't even know why I throw parties. I don't ever really get to enjoy them. If I'm not making sure the place doesn't get trashed, I'm babysitting.

When I get back to the kitchen, Craig has moved from the couch and is now clanking around in the sink. I'm pleasantly surprised to see him cleaning out his own cereal bowl. I guess that shows just how low my standards are.

"I'm sorry," he says with a start.

I would hope so.

"You shouldn't have to clean everything by yourself."

"I kind of already did," I respond harshly.

"I know." He sounds ashamed.

"Thanks for washing your dish though," I follow up. At least he did something, I guess.

He faces me, fidgeting with his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"It's okay," I tell him.

"I don't know why I'm like this," he admits in a murmur.

The confession surprises me because I didn't think he'd be willing to talk about it this soon.

"Well, when did it start?" I pry gently.

"I don't know," he says. "I've been this way for as long as I can remember… I've just kind of… gotten worse as the years passed."

I frown at that. "Why don't you ever want to talk about it?"

"Because it's stupid," he mutters. "It makes me feel stupid… Besides, I'm talking about it now."

"I appreciate it," I say. "I'm glad you're talking to me and being honest."

He shrugs, wrapping his arms around his torso in what looks like an unconscious gesture. "Yeah, whatever…"

"It's scary, you know? To watch you spiral like that," I admit.

"Ugh, I know. Fuck. Token I'm sorry." He says for the millionth time.

"Then stop. I mean come on man. It obviously makes you feel bad."

"I do feel bad, I just—" Craig frowns, "When I'm feeling like that I can't really stop. I don't think about how it makes me feel until after."

"Feeling like what, though?" I ask. "Anxious? Like you have to drink to be able to handle being out? Because you know, we don't have to throw all these parties. I know that you hate them. If you really have that hard of a time you don't have to come to them."

"I don't hate them. Not all the time anyways. It's more than that. I don't know." He shrugs.

"I can't just stop… If I could, then I would. When I'm in a mood, I can't really control myself. I just… get really overwhelmed."

"Hm," I muse. "I don't know, man… I don't really get it. I guess I can't really understand what you're going through because I'm not in your head."

"I'm TRYING to explain it," Craig points out tersely.

"I don't get what I have to do with it, though," I admit. "Why do you get jealous when I'm not paying attention to you?"

"What?" he asks.

"You said that last night," I say. "Don't you remember?"

"No," he denies it.

At this point, I have no idea if he's lying or if he was just too damn drunk.

I let out a sigh. "Well, you DID say it. I just want to know what you mean by it."

"I don't know, I was wasted," he insists, "How the hell would I know what I meant by something I don't even remember saying?"

"Ugh. Forget it." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "What do you mean when you say you get in a mood? What type of mood? Like how do you feel?"

"Agitated, I guess. Left out or ignored. Fuck, I don't know, just all around pissed off?"

I don't know why he's acting like I should have the answers. I have no clue what he's even trying to convey to me.

"So like what I just said? Like you want people to pay attention to you?" I offer.

"That sounds so fucking whiny." He gives me a frustrated look.

"But it's literally what you said." I point out.

"It feels different than that," he murmurs.

"Like how?"

"I don't know!" he exclaims. "Fuck."

"Chill out," I say.

"It's hard to explain," he murmurs. "It's like… when I get like that, I get selfish. I'm not really thinking about other people. I'm only thinking about what I want in that moment and I feel like I'll fucking die if I don't get it."

"When you feel lonely?" I ask, trying to get to the root of things.

"I guess," he says with a shrug. "I don't like when people leave me alone. I don't like when people reject my presence. I don't like being told to leave. I don't like when people go away…"

I nod along to what he's saying.

"I guess it's normal," he continues. "I mean… people don't like to feel that way."

"Yeah…" I say.

Craig is introverted as hell, so it's surprising that he craves attention and affection like this.

"Sometimes I feel like if I don't make people pay attention to me right this very second, they'll all leave and I'll be left alone. I fucking hate being left alone. If it's my choice, it's fine, but as soon as someone is too busy or they're the ones forcing me to be alone, actively choosing to make me alone, I feel like I freak out. I'll get scared that something I said or did will make them leave forever, and if they do then everyone else will too." He pauses. "If everyone left me, what would I be? I'd be completely worthless. I'd want to kill myself."

For a second, I don't even know how to respond. I can't even wrap my head around that level of dependency.

"Jesus Christ," I say. "That's some heavy shit, Craig…"

"Yeah," he murmurs.

"Thank you for telling me, though," I add.

"Sure," he says simply.

I appreciate the insight, but it kind of makes me worry. Craig gets more high-maintenance by the day. I don't like him mentioning suicide as an option. I also don't know how serious he is about it. Does he actually mean that or was he just exaggerating to get his point across?

"Look," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder, "You know I wouldn't ever pull shit like that, right? I know I get frustrated a lot, but I wouldn't ever tell you to go away."

"It felt like you were last night," he mumbles.

"I was busy with trying to keep my house from falling apart," I explain, wanting him to understand that.

"I know, but that's the problem," he continues. "I know you were just trying to keep your house clean. I know that people were being loud and messy and you hate that. I know logically that it had absolutely nothing to do with me. But then I just have this little voice in my head telling me 'If it wasn't about you, then why would you even be worrying about it?', and then I'm just back to square one."

"Then you just need to push that voice away. You said you know logically that it has nothing to do with you," I offer. "Is it really hard to get away from it?"

"Yeah, it's so fucking pervasive."

Craig sounds legitimately distressed. I don't know what to do. I've never seen him like this before.

I feel my frown deepen. "Do you sleep around for attention? You're with a different girl every weekend."

"It's fine," he says with a careless shrug. "I don't really care."

"Why?" I ask. "Is it fun?"

"Can be."

"So, sometimes it isn't?"

If he was just doing this kind of shit because he sincerely enjoyed it, then I wouldn't make it my business… but something about it rubs me the wrong way. It's the way he talks about these experiences. It's like he has no respect or regard for his well-being whatsoever. It's not about having fun, that's for sure. I don't really know what it's about for him.

"I don't know," is all he says.

"Why do you do it? For attention?"

"I don't know…" he repeats himself.

"But why would you do something like that when it isn't even enjoyable?" I persist. "Isn't it just work at that point?"

"No, it's easy."

I don't think I'm striking any sorts of chords with him here.

"It's just something to do," he adds.

"You sleep with every girl in our school because it's 'something to do'?"

I want to be nice, but I'm losing my patience. I can't decipher this—he's too damn cryptic.

Craig is silent for a moment. I think he's gauging my reaction.

"It's just nice to know someone is there who wants me," he finally mumbles.

"Craig." I roll my eyes. "Clyde, Nichole, Jason and I all want you. We're you're friends. Come on now. You don't need to hook up with random girls for people to want you around."

"You're all too busy for me," he says listlessly.

Okay, now he's just trying to make me feel bad.

"Look," I start, trying to keep calm, "these girls… they don't want you for you. They just want you because they think you're attractive or whatever. They aren't about to get to know you and I know that's what you want, isn't it? You're looking for comfort in the wrong place with the wrong people."

"Well, it's none of your business!" he snaps. "So, drop it!"

"Fine," I say simply. "Consider it dropped."

"Just like that?" he asks, looking somewhat crestfallen.

"Yes," I insist. I move out of the room and into the kitchen, grabbing myself a glass of water.

Craig follows me, naturally.

"If you're trying to guilt trip me, it isn't going to work," I tell him.

He scowls at me. "I'm not trying to do that."

"Okay," I say, rubbing my temple, "Do you want me to give you a ride home or something? You probably shouldn't try to walk all the way across town in this shitty weather."

"Oh," he says sharply. "That's tactful."

"What?" I take another swig of my water, finishing off the glass and setting it in the sink.

"So, I should leave?" he huffs.

Ugh.

"Look man, I just have a headache and want to lie down before I have to start focusing all my energy on homework for the week."

"I seriously just explained a shit ton about how badly that makes me feel and you're immediately trying to kick me out?" Craig asks frantically.

"I'm not kicking you out," I assure him. "I just need to sit down for a minute."

"So sit down." He rolls his eyes. "Fucking take a pain killer and actually listen to me for three seconds."

"I'll talk to you tonight or tomorrow," I say. "I really just want to take a nap, Craig. I'm not trying to be a dick here, so stop making me out to be the bad guy."

"Fine," he hisses, stomping out of the room and down the hall.

I follow him, watching as he slips his boots on and grabs his coat, swinging the door open and then slamming it shut.

I let out a sigh, grabbing my coat and slipping on my shoes. Car keys in hand, I exit behind him. Craig starts walking down our long cobblestone driveway, looking like he's planning on walking home.

"Get in the damn car," I tell him.

"No," he refuses.

"Craig, get in the car," I repeat with purpose.

"No."

"Yes! It's too fucking cold and your jacket isn't warm enough for the frigid weather."

He pauses and turns around, grinding his teeth together. His face is heated up and his cheeks are pink. He looks like he's about to cry.

"Just let me drive you home," I say sternly.

"I don't want to go home," he spits back.

We stand there in the driveway for a minute, staring at each other and not speaking.

"Fuck, fine!" I throw my hands up in defeat. "Come back inside, Jesus Christ. Just let me go relax for a little bit before my parents get home."

I'd expect Craig to be happy that he was getting his way, but he doesn't seem to be. He storms past me back into the house, not even bothering to take his coat off.

I don't say anything. I walk right past him and up the stairs to my bedroom. I can't believe I gave into this bullshit. I'm too frustrated to think.

I kill the lights in my bedroom and flop onto my bed, lying down and closing my eyes.

.

.

When I wake up, I sit and stare at the digital clock on my nightstand.

2:30PM.

Yikes. I slept for a little longer than I planned to. Oh, well.

I get out of bed and head downstairs to see Craig lying on the sofa. He's STILL wearing his coat and shoes. I walk towards him, grabbing one of his ankles and removing his shoes one after the other.

"What the fuck?" he deadpans, sitting up.

"Oh, you're awake," I say.

"I wasn't even sleeping," he mutters.

Then I notice his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are damp. It causes a little pang in my chest and I feel sympathetic, but at the same time I think that he WANTS me to feel guilty even though I have no reason to.

I take his shoes into the front entrance and set them on the welcome mat before returning to the living room. I sit down next to him and say, "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," he lies.

"Do you want to make some lunch or something? I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"I'm not really hungry."

Right. Of course not.

I drop it and grab the TV remote from underneath his leg.

When I sit down, Craig scoots away from me. Honestly I don't know what to think about him anymore.

"Are you mad?" he asks.

What the fuck do I say to that?

"Yeah, Craig, I'm kind of irked."

He looks uncomfortable, but doesn't respond.

"I really just wanted to take a nap, man. I wasn't trying to ditch you," I continue.

"I know," he says quietly.

"You didn't need to get so upset. I could have come and hung out later tonight."

"It's not about hanging out."

"Then what?" I ask.

"I already explained it to you as best as I could," he says. "I don't know what else you want me to say."

"So… you just want my attention?"

"You make me sound like a fucking baby," he mutters.

"Well, you're lying down here crying," I point out. "Don't bother denying it," I add when he looks like he's about to protest. "Your eyes are all red and shit. What the hell am I supposed to think about all of this?"

"I –"

Before he can respond, my home phone begins ringing. I reach for the phone on the coffee table and answer with, "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Token?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Hi, hon, it's Laura," she starts. "Is Craig over there? He isn't answering his cell phone. We called Clyde and he said Craig was still over here."

"Yeah, he is," I say. "Want to talk to him?"

"No, that's fine, just tell him Thomas will be by in a minute to pick him up."

"I can drive him over, Laura," I say.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," she insists. "Thomas has errands to run, so he'll be out anyway."

"All right."

"Thanks!" she says before hanging up.

I set the phone down and Craig gives me a questioning look. "Your mom wants you home," I tell him. "Your dad is going to come get you."

"Oh," is all he says.

Honestly, Craig's parents are really nice. I don't know why Craig is such a hot mess. Even Ruby isn't as screwed up. She's just a troublemaker. I'm sure Laura and Thomas did all they could. I guess the problem is that they both work a lot. They don't have money like my family does, so both of his parents had a hard time with things. Maybe that's why Craig is so damn thirsty for attention.

Laura is a waitress and Thomas is a salesman. Craig spent a lot of time at daycares and with babysitters when he was little. When Ruby came along, Laura had to take time off and they were on a tight budget for a few years. I think it was rough on all of them and it's sad that so many people have to overwork just to be able to live and support their families.

I wish Craig could show them a little more appreciation, but I think he gives them as hard of a time as he does everyone else. Not to mention that he's always struggled with school and that can't be easy for any parent. I've tried setting up times to help him study in the past, but he always either bails or ends up distracted.

"I should probably get ready." Craig gets up from the couch and zips up his jacket again.

"Alright," I say as he walks over to the door and grabs his shoes from the spot I left them.

"Craig, you're okay, you know."

He stares up at me, looking unconvinced.

"Seriously. I mean, don't worry about today. I'm not pissed and I'm not going to leave you," I offer. Honestly, I am still irritated, but I don't think he needs to hear that right now. I don't think it will help.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "Sorry for acting like a dick."

I shrug.

It doesn't take long for Thomas to show up. I guess his plan was to run errands after getting Craig. I don't know why they needed him home in such a rush, but this time he goes without a complaint. I guess because it was on his terms.

I still don't understand what's wrong though, or what he was trying to tell me earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

On Monday, I drive to school, picking up Nichole, Clyde, Craig and Bebe on the way. I don't mind being everyone's chauffer. Everyone but Craig can drive, though it doesn't matter because none of them can afford a car yet. The only reason I have one is because my parents have money. It was a gift on my sixteenth birthday. I was beyond grateful.

We all chatter mindlessly and soon enough I'm pulling into the parking lot. I grab the first space I see and we pile out, heading into the building.

Craig hasn't said a word and everyone has been avoiding the topic of the weekend. Thank God. I think that it's probably the last thing Craig wants to talk about.

We head to our lockers and walk to class. First period is Phys-Ed, which is Craig's least favourite subject. He's fit and he likes to run, but he doesn't like gym class. I think it's because he could care less about sports and all we do is play sports.

"You good?" I ask him as we head to the locker room.

"Fine," he says simply, shrugging a careless shoulder.

"Looking forward to being graded on how well we can throw a football?" I joke, but it doesn't stick.

Craig gives me an irritated look. I can understand why. I place for our high school's football team, so I guess the joke was tasteless.

I think Craig just hates team-based things. They frustrate him. You have to rely a lot on people who you might not like or even necessarily really know.

When I get to my locker, I pull my sweater off over my head. I kind of hate having PE first thing in the morning too. I always end up all sweaty before class.

I try to avoid the other jocks on account of the fact that I hate bro-ing out in the locker room. I know that the general attitude makes everyone else uncomfortable and that's enough for me to nix it completely. With Clyde being one of my best friends though, it's sometimes hard to avoid.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but he's pretty stereotypical. He's a jock dating a cheerleader. Him and Bebe have been on and off since the dawn of time. They're both just dramatic as hell.

Craig strips unceremoniously and throws on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before walking out of the locker room. After changing out of my jeans and into my sweats, I do the same.

He's moody today. I'm not going to try and talk to him if he's going to be sour. I'll just wait until he's done moping over whatever the hell is bothering him. I would try to ask again, but it'd be pointless. He is rarely in the mood to talk. I'm still surprised he told me as much as he did yesterday.

He doesn't talk about his personal problems that much. Honestly, Craig doesn't talk about much of anything. He's a quiet guy – totally introverted.

It stresses me out frankly. Especially as someone who makes a point to know when and where to talk out his problems. I think it's important. Everyone has a hard time sooner or later. I just choose to surround myself with people who will support me and make sure I know how to use of the resource.

When Craig's not hanging out with us, he's hanging out with douchebags. People who would probably flip over and spill shit about him at the drop of the hat.

I guess when you're underage and addicted to booze and cigarettes that can be what happens. You hang out with seedy people because you're doing seedy shit.

"Pair off in twos!" our teacher tells us when we him the track. He's a big guy. Ex-marine. We try not to piss him off.

I can see Craig physically trying to disappear. It makes me want to laugh—good luck ghosting that dude.

"Tucker, what's your problem?" the teacher asks, calling him out in front of everyone.

He flushes and doesn't respond. He just kind of goes rigid. Before Craig has a fucking anxiety attack, I say, "Pair with me."

"Okay…" he agrees hoarsely.

Sometimes I feel like I don't know Craig at all. Sure, he's one of my best friends… but there are still a million things I don't know about him. I think he keeps the most important shit to himself. That's probably why he's constantly driving himself crazy. There's too much going on in his head and he doesn't let any of it escape. He has no release, no outlet, nothing of the sort. It isn't healthy, that's for damn sure.

We're doing relays. Great. Just because they're easy doesn't mean I have to like them. I just hate how competitive it makes the whole class, and how it singles out some poor kid and his partner instead of just letting an entire team fail.

Craig is fast though, so it works out. It's probably because he's the human equivalent of a beanpole. It doesn't take much practice or stamina to be able to move a body like that around.

I wouldn't have cared if we lost anyway—I'm saving my competitive nature for more important things. Real things, like college.

The kids to come in last turn out to be Butters and some boy I've never seen before in my life. I think it's crazy how you can go to school with the same people for four years and still see new faces on the regular.

Ah, well. To be expected. I think if we came in last, Craig would have had a mental breakdown in front of the class or something. Teachers rag on him a lot and I know it really bothers him, yet it still doesn't bother him enough for him to try harder. His average is probably a C- and I don't see that changing any time soon.

Sometimes I think he tries to get attention by failing. I don't know why he doesn't just do the opposite – get attention by succeeding. At least that way he isn't doing as much harm.

After gym class, we all change back into our regular clothes and head to next period. I have academic math, which I take with kids like Kyle and Wendy. I'm good at math, even though I don't particularly like it. I don't think many people do.

I just try to numb myself into it. Memorize the formulas, do well on the tests. It's easy.

.

.

At the end of the day I head to our usual meeting spot in the school's parking lot. I also drive everyone home on days when there aren't after school activities. Clyde, Bebe, and Nichole are waiting patiently, but Craig is nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" I ask, a little irritated that he's holding everyone up.

"Detention," Clyde says, rolling his eyes. "He cussed out our physics teacher for giving him a hard time over some of the homework that was due today. I guess he didn't turn it in."

"Of course not," I say sarcastically. "I mean why would he? We all know homework is worthless."

"Preach," Bebe giggles, and Clyde chuckles along with her.

Ugh, gross.

Whatever. Fuck it. I'm not going to wait for that little shit to get out of detention. "All right, hop in," I say as we all pile into my car.

One by one I drive everyone home. They all talk about more mindless stuff – what happened during the day, gossip, rumors, all that typical high school shit. I'm not really one for gossiping. I just try to stick to the facts. You can't really trust what you hear through the grapevine.

Soon, it's just me and Nichole alone in the car.

"What's up?" she asks me.

"Not much," I tell her.

"Liar," she calls me out.

I smile to myself. She still knows me best – probably better than everyone else. We used to date. It didn't last, but it was good while it did. Now we're just friends and it's better this way.

"Yeah, maybe," I consider. "Craig is stressing me out a bit lately."

"What's he doing now?" she pries expectantly.

Everyone knows he's high-maintenance. It's not really a secret. It's just a basic fact.

"He's acting really clingy and dependent," I say. "Not really sure why. I know he's always like that, but I feel like it's just progressing and getting more severe."

"Hm…" Nichole muses. "Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

"He got kind of defensive and pissy," I tell her. "He was all right a little while later and he tried telling me how he felt, but I didn't really get it…"

"Craig is pretty sensitive," Nichole notes. "He's always been that way. He takes things so, so, so personally. Then he gets defensive."

"Yeah," I chuckle, agreeing. "That's him to a T… I still don't really get why he's like that, though."

"Me neither," Nichole says. "Maybe it's just the kind of person he is – submissive by nature, someone who wants to be taken care of."

"Eh, maybe…" I wrinkle my nose at that, not really understanding why someone would want to be totally dependent on another person.

Soon enough, we pull into her driveway and I tell her I'll see her tomorrow.

"Chin up," she says with a smile before getting out of her car. I wave at her before she heads inside and then I head home.

.

.

Not even two hours later, there's a firm knock at my door. I open up to find Craig, looking bitter and cold.

"Hi?" I say uncomfortably as he lets himself in.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" he snaps, kicking off his wet shoes.

"Um, why did you get detention?" I retort.

He gives me a nasty look but doesn't respond, practically ripping his jacket off his body and trying to hang it up but letting it fall to the floor.

"I had to walk two miles in the snow!"

"And yet you came here instead of going home," I grumble, picking up his coat.

He looks unamused.

"I'm just saying—" I continue, "You live a lot closer to the school than I do."

Again, no response. Instead, he just stares me down in the doorway. He looks like he's waiting for me to make the next move.

I let out a sigh, waving him further into the house. I put my hands on his cheeks. "You're fucking freezing," I say.

"Yeah, well…" he trails off.

"Are you all right?" I ask him, releasing him.

"Fine," he says simply and vaguely.

I don't argue with that. I don't bother prying any further.

"Well, come on," I say, nodding for him to follow me into the kitchen. I stand over the counter and put on the kettle.

I know Craig likes tea. He likes it plain, with no sugar. He likes it to steep for a while so the water soaks up as much of the leaves as it can. I think he likes the bitter tastes. I decide to make chamomile. Hopefully it'll just make him tired and he'll go home or something.

He sits quietly at the table, not saying a word. His hands are on his lap and he's staring down, looking like he wants to sink into himself.

"So what happened with the teacher?" I ask finally.

Craig stares up at me stubbornly. "She was being an asshole."

"For wanting you to turn your homework in?"

"Not just that. She always hassles me. Just me. You know who else doesn't turn their homework in? Kenny. Cartman. Clyde half the time!" he says, frustrated. "She just singles me out!"

"She probably knows you have more potential than you're giving yourself credit for," I suggest.

"Yeah, right." He rolls his eyes.

"I mean it," I insist. "I think you're smarter than you realize you are. Teachers always hone in on that kind of thing."

"Well even if I am it's not their job to try to prove it! I get that they're trying to be the hero and be the one teacher that gets through to me, but it's honestly just obnoxious!"

"Craig, don't you want to do something with your life?" I ask him. "Don't you want to go to university?"

"No," he says flatly.

"Then, what?" I continue to question him. "What do you want to do with yourself when you graduate?"

"If I even graduate," he mumbles. "I don't fucking know. I'll just get a mundane job or something."

"That won't make you happy," I tell him.

"It might!" he argues, getting defensive.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I turn around when the kettle starts to scream. I grab two cups from the cupboard and two tea bags before pouring the water.

"Listen," I start again, walking towards the kitchen table, "I just want you to be happy." I set the cups down and sit across from him, waiting for him to respond. For a while, he's quiet. He simply stares down into his cup, letting the steam rise up into his face.

I mean what I said. I want him to be happy. I want all my friends to be happy, but with Craig it's different. When Clyde or Jason fucks up I know they'll get their own life back on track. But with Craig—who knows what he'll do. He could just drop off the face of the earth any day and I would never know what happened to him. I don't trust him.

I get scared he'll be the type of guy who will look back on his life in his 40s and wish he'd done more. It's scarier to think of the alternative.

Craig picks up his tea and takes a sip even though I know it's still scalding hot. I wonder if he wants me to stop him.

"Dude," I say quietly.

He sets his tea back down. I have no idea why he's like this.

He doesn't react at all. He just takes another sip. He looks like he's fucking dead on the inside. His eyes look so empty and sad. I feel so fucking sorry for him.

"Craig," I say his name, wanting him to acknowledge me so I know he isn't completely out of it. "Dude, talk to me. What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know…" he responds in a hoarse voice.

I stare at him as he stares away – off into empty space and as far away from me as possible.

Maybe he really doesn't know how he's feeling. Maybe he's feeling too much and he doesn't know how to compartmentalize it all.

"You scare me sometimes," I decide to admit to him. "When you get like this… I'm not saying it in a bad way… but I'm concerned."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know. You've told me."

"I care about you," I reiterate.

"Yeah," he repeats himself, voice cracking. He lets out a breath, staring back down into his cup again.

We sit for a while, drinking our tea and not talking.

"Will you take me home?" Craig asks suddenly, setting his cup down on the table. "I don't know why I came here."

"Uh, sure," I oblige. "Are you okay?"

He nods, but I'm unconvinced. Still, I don't pry, and grab his mug off the table and set it in the sink.

After Craig gathers his things, we go out to the car and sit while the engine warms up. I fiddle with the radio, but there's nothing good playing, so I turn it off again.

"Why don't you come over this week and we'll do our homework together?" I offer.

"Okay," he replies quickly, which surprises me. For someone who hates having people check in on him so much, that's incredibly compliant. "I just have an essay I need to get done," he continues, "I hate the book and don't want to finish it."

"Okay," I say with a smile. "I can help you out, if you want."

He nods his head.

Me and Craig aren't in the same English class. He takes regular English with the rest of the guys, while I take advanced with keeners like Kyle Broflovski.

"What's the book?" I ask him.

"Some Shakespeare shit," he says with a shrug. "I hate that guy."

"Ah," I give a long nod. "Well, I'm pretty good with Shakespeare, so I can definitely lend a hand."

He nods again, seeming a little happier than he was mere minutes ago. "It's like reading another language…"

"Yeah," I chuckle. "Old English can be tough. It kind of helps to read it out loud, believe it or not."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say before deciding to pull out of the driveway. It's warm enough in the car by now. "They're plays," I tell him, "So they're meant to be acted out. The way they teach them in school doesn't work well for most people, so you're not alone at least."

He nods, but looks disinterested, so I end the lesson there.

Craig doesn't live that far my house—about a twenty minute walk—and I still can't figure out why he thought it necessary to trek all the way over instead of just going home after school. Was he trying to prove something to me? I have no idea. He was obviously mad that I hadn't waited after school, but I don't understand how showing up at my house unannounced was supposed to teach me that. I wonder if he just needed an excuse to be upset. I wouldn't be surprised.

Some minutes later, I'm pulling into his driveway. He hesitates for a minute, putting his hand on the door handle, but not opening it.

"What's up?" I ask.

He lets out a sigh and then shakes his head. "Um… Nothing, thanks for the drive."

With that, he gets out, shutting the car door behind himself. I watch him walk up the stairs to his house. A second later, he disappears inside. Once I know he's safe, I pull out of the driveway.

Craig is a fucking mystery, but I do feel like I'm getting somewhere with him. I feel like I'm at least beginning to understand some of the little things. Then again, maybe I still have it all wrong. I don't know.


	4. Chapter 4

The week flies by and Craig doesn't take me up on the offer to help with his homework. Instead he scrapes by, like usual.

Kyle finds out on Thursday that his parents will be out of town and that he wants to throw a party. He gets to unwind almost as little as I do, so it's no surprise that he's jumping at the first opportunity. I'm just thankful it won't be me cleaning up this weekend—I don't think Kyle realizes how much work the after party is. Maybe I'll finally be able to enjoy myself, though.

I make a plan to finish all my work Friday night. As I sit down with the last of my math homework I contemplate calling Craig and asking if he wants to work together, before deciding that I'll get more done if I work alone. If needed help, he could have asked earlier.

I'm surprised he didn't take me up on my offer since he seemed pleased at the time, but I guess that's just the kind of guy he is. I can't really make sense of it.

I finish around 7PM and then decide to head out. Instead of taking my car, I walk. Kyle lives pretty close to me. Plus, I don't want to have to worry about my car if I end up having a drink or two.

When I'm approaching his street, I can hear music. It's loud, but I'm sure the party is just getting started. I let myself in when I reach his house and I'm immediately greeted with the scent of cigarette smoke and a mix of what may or may not be pot. Awesome. I hope Craig is staying far away from that shit, but knowing him… he's probably close to the source of it.

I wander into the kitchen and grab a beer before deciding to try and look for a familiar face. Bebe said she'd be here along with Nichole and Clyde and Jason. That means Craig probably tagged along, too.

Clyde is the first friend I run into, and Bebe isn't far behind. Clyde tends to keep his finger locked through her belt loop when they've both been drinking. I guess it keeps them from losing each other.

Honestly, I think it's just Clyde being possessive. Bebe cheated on him last year, but he seems to think he kind of deserved it. He had been texting back and forth non-stop with Heidi. I don't think Bebe even wanted to go with the other guy—some California transplant—but Clyde just wasn't getting the message. Either way, they're back together. They say they're both past it but I'm not so sure. They watch each other like hawks. I don't know why they couldn't just talk out their problems like real adults.

"What's up?" Clyde asks, looking like he's already feeling the effects of the alcohol. He and Bebe drink a lot, but unlike Craig, they can hold their alcohol and they don't get any stupider than they act in a regular day.

"Not much," I say. "I just got here. Have you seen Craig around?"

"He was with Jason," Bebe says. "They were smoking outside last time I saw them."

"All right," I murmur, wondering if I should even bother trying to find them.

"Token, dude, why are you so obsessed with Craig lately?" Clyde asks with a laugh. "Just let him be."

I know he's probably just kidding around, but the comment rubs me the wrong way. I think Clyde is a little too carefree sometimes and there are times he doesn't understand the severity of certain situations.

I roll my eyes at him. "I'm not obsessed, Clyde. I'm concerned. There's a difference."

"Sure." Clyde winks at me, thrusting his hips in my direction.

Ugh. Gross.

I back away, rolling my eyes. His lewd gestures are the last thing I need right now.

Clyde's been teasing me like this ever since I came out as bisexual last spring. I know he means no harm, but it gets annoying. If I would have known he was going to act like such a tool I would have just left him out of the loop.

I knew for a long time before I told anyone, just because I could date girls and that just seemed easier. Last year I started to feel like I was lying to people though, so I came out. I'm lucky my parents are as progressive as they are. Neither of them even batted an eyelash.

I'm glad for it.

I decide to step out onto the back balcony and do a scan. No sight of Craig – just some other kids. They're socializing, smoking and laughing and chatting away.

I head back inside.

I might seem obsessive, but I'm not. I just feel like I'm the only damn person who sees that he's clearly in pain. I don't want him to go off the deep end and hurt himself. I don't want him to do something stupid with the wrong person and end up getting himself into trouble – or killed, even. Knowing Craig, it's a very real possibility.

After downing my first beer, I grab another.

I haven't let loose in a while. So, I'm going to reward myself tonight for dealing with so much shit lately. I've been working hard – in school and in every other part of my life. I deserve a night's break.

Plus, I'm a good drunk. I know how to pace myself. I never overdo it. I never get hung over. I've never been hung over in my life and I'm not about to start.

I decide to go outside—away from all the noise—to finish my beer. I open the front door and plop down on the steps.

I take a look around the neighborhood. Kyle lives in a nice part of town. His parents make good money.

The lights in his neighbors' houses are mostly off. I guess they're all either in bed or out at the bar. Even the adults have a hard time finding something to do in South Park.

Everyone at the party parked their cars out front, and I'm thankful I decided to walk. On the off chance the cops show, I'll I need to do is get up and head home.

There's a Mustang with its lights still on parked on the corner. I can tell it's Jason's dad's car because he's the only one in town who would drive a flashy thing like that. He's a mechanic and fixes up old junkers, then keeps or sells them. He must have let Jason borrow it for the night.

I stand up and start walking over to say hello. Jason must have just arrived and I could use a sober person to talk to.

I move down the driveway and stop in my tracks when I see that he isn't alone. He's with someone in the front seat and they seem to be making out quite aggressively. Ugh.

I feel my stomach churn unpleasantly when they pull apart and I see that it's Craig. He has his arms wrapped around Jason's neck and they're pressed so closely together.

What the fuck?

I fucking KNEW Craig was gay!

But Jason? What in God's name are Craig and Jason doing together? Have they done this before or is this a one-time thing? I'm full of questions that will probably never get answered.

I stare for a minute, unable to look away as they reconnect. What a hot mess. They're slobbering all over each other. It's like watching a train wreck or a car crash.

I force myself to turn away quietly and try to forget what I just saw. I head back inside, feeling like I'm in a bit of a daze over my recent discovery.

Inside, I spot Kyle and he seems to notice.

"Dude, what's up?" he asks me, tugging on my sleeve.

"Oh, hey, man," I greet. "Not much. How're you enjoying your party?"

"It's cool," he says. "Though I'm sure the clean-up is gonna suck."

"Yeah, that's always the worst part," I agree with a chuckle.

"Do you get help or do you always do it alone?" he asks me.

I shrug. "Sometimes Nichole helps. Usually whoever does a little something in the morning, depending on how much of an asshole they are."

Kyle smiles at that. "So I guess I should try to get people to stay over, huh?"

"That's one way to swing it," I laugh.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch and surprisingly, I actually have a good time. Nichole eventually shows up and we dance together. Clyde whoops and hollers when we do but I know that she and I are just friends. Things are better that way.

I don't see Craig ever even come inside the house. I guess he and Jason must have gone home together. I never saw that one coming.

I walk home by myself around 2 a.m. The sidewalks are icy so it talks me a little longer than usual even though I'm long sober. By the time I get to my front door I'm fucking freezing. I quietly unlock the door and rush up to my bedroom. My parents knew I was going out, so I have nothing to hide, but I really just want to be in bed.

I head up, taking off my jeans and sweater so I'm left in shorts and a t-shirt. I slip a pair of sweatpants on and then head into my bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. I've never been critical of my appearance. Quite the opposite, I'm a pretty confident guy. I'm tall and fit from years of sports. I like sports. I feel like football is an outlet. I'm a pretty calm person, but I do need to let out a little steam every once in a while.

After brushing my teeth I wash my face and then I kill the lights, returning to my bedroom. It's dim, with only the light from the moon filtering in through a crack in the blinds.

As soon as I crawl into bed I hear the doorbell ring.

"What the fuck?" I murmur aloud to myself.

Then it happens again and again and again.

I jump out of bed and tear down the stairs, ripping the door open. When I'm about to scream at the person on the other side, I stop because it's Craig and he looks like he's seconds away from losing his damn mind.

"Dude, what the fuck?" I say quietly, trying not to wake my parents.

"Can I come in?" he asks shakily.

I back up, opening the door and closing it slowly behind him.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Nothing. Can I sleep here tonight?" Craig slips off his shoes and turns around to me, staring down at the floor.

"Nothing?" I hiss, "You can't just fucking show up here at 3 in the fucking morning and tell me nothing is going on!"

Craig gives me a wary look, but says nothing.

"Is this about Jason?" I ask suddenly. It probably fucking is.

"What?" Craig chokes out. He forces a surprised face, but just ends up looking like a damn idiot because he's obviously about to burst into tears. "N-no!" he stutters loudly. "Why would you even ASK that?" His breath starts coming in heavy, like he's choking. I think he just feels trapped. "Oh, God…"

"Dude, calm down," I say pleadingly. I grab him by the shoulders and steer him into the living room. I hope Jason didn't pull any stupid stunts. He's an asshole, but I can't see him doing anything THAT bad.

When we're in the living room, I sit him on the sofa. I think he's still a bit drunk, too, because he sure smells like it.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" I ask.

And this is when he loses it. He keels over and lets out a long, loud keening sound before starting to cry openly. "Oh, God…" he moans between sobs.

For a moment, I simply stare at him entirely unsure of what to say or do. With a sigh, I sit down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he lays his head on my lap and continues crying. I let him, putting a hand on his head and wishing I knew what was going on in it. Man, he stresses me out. I mindlessly play with his feathery hair, waiting for him to calm down so he's coherent enough to tell me what the fuck happened.

He brings a hand over his face haphazardly, letting out miserable sounds into his palm. It sounds like he's grieving. I've never seen him cry like this before and it's unnerving.

I want to know what happened. I briefly consider calling Jason before realize that it's probably a horrible idea to get him involved. On the off-chance that it has nothing to do with him, I don't think Craig could handle another pair of eyes watching him.

"Let's go up to my room," I say instead. My parents sleep on the ground level and I don't want to wake them up, but I also don't want to send Craig home. Not like this.

He doesn't respond.

"Craig, I know you're upset, and I want you to stay here. We just need to go upstairs or my parents are going to come out and wonder what's going on." I tell him again.

He quiets momentarily and lifts his head out of my lap, looking absolutely miserable.

I offer him my hand, which he reluctantly accepts, and then we head upstairs. He's no longer a sobbing mess, but he's still sniffling. Every minute or so he brings a hand up to swipe at his eyes.

I fetch him a glass of water from the kitchen and then we head to my bedroom for the night.

Once inside, I shut the door. Craig sits on my bed and stares at the ground, looking defeated and altogether hopeless.

"Want to change?" I ask him. "You can borrow some of my clothes. They'll be big on you, but it'll be more comfortable than sleeping in your jeans."

"Trynna get me naked?" he asks in a mumble and I can't tell if he's joking or not.

"Here," I say, tossing him some of my sweatpants. They're old, so they might fit him better.

He strips down to his boxers and pulls the sweats over his legs. Honestly he looks a little ridiculous. They're way too big and short on someone shaped like him. Whatever, at least we're not going anywhere.

I pull back the sheets to crawl into bed and Craig follows quickly behind.

He rolls toward me, wrapping himself in the blanket and stopping a few inches from my face, giving me a dead-pan stare.

"Craig," I say tentatively, "Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?"

He blinks, then rolls away onto his back. "How did you know about Jason?" he asks.

"I saw you two making out in his car," I confess, "I thought he had just pulled up and I wanted to go talk to him. I didn't want to bother you two though—I thought it would freak you out."

"That was nice of you," he grumbles.

"So, what happened with all that?" I ask. "Did you leave with him?"

"Yes," Craig admits tersely, sounding like this is the last thing in the world he wants to be talking about. He sniffles a bit more, sounding like he's seconds away from crying all over again.

"And is this what you're upset over?" I pry.

"Yes," he repeats himself in a high-pitched voice, which sounds so weird to my ears since his voice is so deep.

"So, what happened?" I ask yet again, starting to get tired of this. I feel bad for saying it because clearly he's in pain, but I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do about it.

His breath starts coming in heavy again and I really don't understand what he's so upset over.

"Craig, I can't understand unless you tell me," I point out as gently as I can. "Did Jason do something to you? Do you regret what you did? Come on, talk to me… I want to understand."

"I don't know." He shudders, sitting up. "We started going to his house and when we pulled up he told me that he should actually take me home."

I pause, waiting for him to finish, but he doesn't.

"Craig, that could be for a million reasons," I say quietly. "He could have realized his parents were home. He could have thought of something he has to do early tomorrow. He could have just changed his mind, Craig. He's allowed to change his mind."

"I feel like it's something I did!" he insists. "He made me feel like I fucked up!"

"Did he say anything like that?"

Craig shrugs. "No, not at first. But when I told him I didn't want to go home he got really pissed off."

Of course he did, fuck. Jason has absolutely zero bullshit tolerance. There's no way that he would have given in the way I did last weekend.

"You know how he is," I say. "He's a pretty stern guy."

"So are you," Craig mumbles.

I want to roll my eyes at that because clearly I haven't been stern with him at all, especially lately.

"That's beside the point," I continue. "Look, you've known Jason forever. You have a pretty good idea about what kind of guy he is. He probably didn't mean anything by it. He probably just had some shit to get done."

"Well, he's an asshole," Craig says insistently.

"Why? Because he didn't want to sleep with you?"

Craig huffs, acting like he's twelve years old. "That's NOT what I mean!"

"Was this your first time doing something like that?"

"Obviously not," he bites out.

"So, you've done it with him before?"

"Yes!" he seethes, sounding like he just doesn't want to admit to it. "He never pushed me away like that before! I don't know WHY he did it!"

"Ask him," I say simply. "Instead of getting all upset, you should have just asked him."

"Token, I couldn't even think straight!" he argues.

"Well, do you like him?" I wonder. Maybe that's why he's taking it so personally.

"No," he admits.

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Then why do you sleep with him?"

"Because I'm a big whore," he says bitterly.

"Craig, don't say shit like that," I tell him wearily.

"Why not?" he snaps. "You've said it."

"No, I haven't," I growl, getting angry. "Get your head out of your ass, Craig. I've never said something like that to you."

"Well, you hinted at it!" he insists firmly. "You're always asking me why I'm flinging myself at everyone!"

I raise a hand and start rubbing my forehead. He's starting to give me a headache. "I ask you that because I want you to make good decisions, not because I actually care who you sleep with."

"Oh so you don't care?" he asks, rolling away from me.

I want to scream.

"Craig you know that's not what I meant! I literally just told you that I want you to make good choices! Of course I care about you. I just don't care who you fuck!" I explain hostilely.

"I'm not gay," he tells me suddenly.

"No, of course not." I roll my eyes.

"Jason is just easy," he insists.

"Really? Because he doesn't seem so easy right now, and you seem pretty upset about that."

Craig stops responding and I want to kick him out of my fucking bed.

I want to ask Craig what the real story is between him and Jason and how the hell they even happened in the first place, but I'm not going to get any answers tonight. That's for damn sure.

"Just go to bed," I say wearily. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Again, he doesn't respond. I feel him shake a bit. I don't know if he's just angry or if he's crying again, but honestly, I don't have time for it right now. I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open and it's putting me in a bad mood. I don't want to talk to him like this. It won't end ell.

So, I close my eyes and try not to think about Craig, which is pretty damn hard because he's lying right next to me.

I can't believe I was ever fucking into him in the past.

What a shit-show that would have been.


End file.
